


aim at the sky

by liberate



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Timeline, Implied Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, hella angsty, this is more of an angsty character study than anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 02:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberate/pseuds/liberate
Summary: in the end, it's not enough, because his fingerprints on genji's thighs vanish, and after a while, the dirty cigarette-smoke vanishes and everything vanishes except the memories, and maybe jesse has wasted too much time pushing away the anxiety, the growling fear inside of his ribcage, of being tied down, of meaning something to anyone, of being loved.some people are destined for tragedy, aren't they?





	aim at the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karukara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karukara/gifts).



> hear me out. this is not even my headcanon, but an artist i very much admire drew [this](https://tastyboygenji.tumblr.com/post/161596823950/going-along-with-this-picture-as-well-au) yesterday and i had to defend my title of king of angst by writing this.
> 
> thank you so much for allowing me to write about it, and i hope i did it justice in any way. it sure was a fight. _heavily_ influenced by hamilton, because i really crave the mcgenji hamilton au (maybe i'll write it), and i listened to the songs none-stop while writing this. 'wait for it', 'it's quiet uptown' and 'the world is wide enough' probably make the soundtrack for this one shot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**i**.

 

 

There's a beginning, eventually, somewhere along the line. It's a bit of a mess, blurred along the edges, because at this point, neither of them can remember how it happened, how they ended up in one bed, and they look at each other, _It's nothing, I don't remember either_ and both of them are lying. Jesse is lying because he is a fool, always has been, always will be – turn the card upside-down, _0: The Fool –_ and he's too scared to admit things, calls it stubborn and lets his hands do the talking for him, because it's enough.

 

In the end, it's not enough, because his fingerprints on Genji's thighs vanish, and after a while, the dirty cigarette-smoke vanishes and everything vanishes except the memories, and maybe Jesse has wasted too much time pushing away the anxiety, the growling fear inside of his ribcage, of being tied down, of meaning something to anyone, of being _loved_.

 

They probably never would've called it love, but – craving, yearning, a tenderness concealed as an obsession.

 

 

 

**ii**.

 

 

Genji is too handsome for his own good and also a bit of a troublemaker.

Jesse is one of the best agents Blackwatch has to offer, and he knows it.

 

There's no way a kid who wears arrogance and a pathetic smile like a second skin stands a chance against him. Except it's not as easy as that, because Jesse really wants his life to be easy, but instead it gets more complicated with every step he takes. Genji is eerily quiet on the way back to the base, fingers brushing softly over the bruise on his left cheek where Jesse's punch has hit him, and his gaze is piercing and deadly, not moving an inch from where he sits, nothing of the cursing from before, cockiness turning into arrogance evolving into curses and fists, but not blades. It tells Jesse a lot his character, and he isn't sure if he likes that.

 

He also isn't sure if he likes the way his thoughts keep drifting back to Genji – sure, he's in the seet right next to him, but Jesse couldn't care less, couldn't he? - to the weird things, the soft scar on his right upper arm, the way he keeps folding his arms in front of his chest, like it's a habit, only to touch the bruise again, and Jesse doesn't think that Genji notices that he's touching it.

 

It shows weakness, after all, but maybe Genji is arrogant enough not to care.

Or maybe Jesse is arrogant enough to care, and when Genji flicks another punch at him, Jesse catches his wrist and resists breaking his nose, because someone will eventually teach him respect, but Jesse doesn't want to be that person.

 

He wants to be the person who makes Genji melt.

 

 

 

**iii**.

 

 

Genji pays him back a thousand times, with hits that are a little too forceful in practice, with glazes that speak of murder and something completely different and yet very similar, with words that are harsh and try to carve their way under his skin, but he shrugs them off, because he has heard worse and an obnoxious rebel won't get under his skin, and he's over the shit he used to think, at the beginning, over the shivering feeling in his ribcage. Or so he thinks.

 

Genji pushes him over the edge with another flick of his wrist, teeth and lips and skin on skin, and Jesse lets him and falls and falls and falls, until he's oceans away from the low-lit corridor and the grin Genji gives him, the way he lazily drags his tongue across his lips before he gets up, in a fluent movement. _I didn't knew you were into this, cowboy_ , he winks, and leaves McCree breathless and with rage boiling inside of his chest – 60% rage, 30% annoyance, 10% of something that smells dangerously like desire.

 

 

 

**iv**.

 

 

He swears to himself that he'll never let it happen again.

It happens another thousand times before he admits that he's lost.

 

 

 

**v**.

 

 

“Are you ever satisfied?”, Jesse asks, without looking at Genji, sprawled out on the sheets next to him. Genji sighs, shifts a little closer, shoulder on shoulder. Jesse expects something, anything, a witty remark, a suggestive reply, but instead Genji stays silent for a long moment. Jesse lights another cigarette, blinking at the ceiling. “Maybe not. Is that a bad thing?”

 

McCree thinks about it, about the way Genji reacts after loosing, after failing, the way he clawed bloody lines across his body in his sleep after the one mission that turned into disaster, about – his smile, still a little cocky if he wants it, but not half as arrogant as back then, the way his eyes light up when someone compliments his work, his talent, even if he conceals it with sarcastic comments. Jesse has had a lot of time to watch Genji, because somewhere along the line hate turned into something different and their abilities match and their bodies match and when Genji is sitting on the window-sill, flicking through report while McCree procrastinates his own, smoking out of the window, a calm has settled inside Jesse's chest, one that keeps flowing through his veins.

 

He never says _I enjoy spending time with you, it makes me feel good_ , he never says _I care about your obnoxious personality more than I care about your body,_ he never says _We make a good team_ , he covers up the bitemarks on his neck because Gabriel won't stop teasing him about it when no one is around, and Genji looks _almost_ hurt when he explains.

 

What Jesse says is _Don't get killed, darlin', my bed is lonely without you_ , what Jesse says is _At least you have some tricks of your sleeve_ , what Jesse says is _Nah, your brother isn't half as pretty as you_. He leaves the light out when he gets up in the morning and Genji is still asleep and he keeps his door open, even when the paranoia comes back to hide under his bed, because Genji kicks it out of the room again, _No place for that, cowboy, I'm not going anywhere_.

 

_I'm not going anywhere either_ , McCree relies, and he means it. It's a lie anyway.

 

“Maybe not until I save my brother”, Jesse glances back at Genji, eyes closed, resting against his shoulder. He hasn't heard Genji use Hanzo's name ever since he joined Blackwatch, but maybe that's for the better. Jesse understands Genji sometimes, most times, not enough times, but when it comes to Hanzo, he's lost, a ship without a steering wheel in an ocean of history. But he never asks, because that's not how this works, this unnamed thing between them. Instead he settles on a hoarse “It will happen” and Genji blinks at him, like he's not really looking at Jesse, but at something utterly different. “Maybe”, he draws it out and closes his eyes again.

 

“Maybe I'm just not the type of person for satisfaction.”

“Maybe the people who feel that way are the people who change the world.”

 

 

 

 

**vi**.

 

 

Genji opens his mouth like he wants to say something, fists clenched into the red cloth covering his shoulders. It goes along well with his green hair; Jesse notices, absently. None of them says what he really wants to say – _I don't like this mission_ , _Please just stay_ , but they both know how this works. Genji just smiles, a half-smile, and Jesse brushes his knuckles across Genji's chin.

 

_I'll be back before you know it, darlin'._

It doesn't fit your outfit anyways.

_Don't worry, it really suits you._

 

Genji's laugh is quiet as he leans in to kiss McCree, and for a moment, everything is fine, like their destiny hasn't already been written, like they still have a choice to make. The only choice that they still get to make is Jesse leaning in for another kiss, adjusting the cloak around Genji's shoulders with a wink, before he grabs his Peacekeeper and leaves to meet up with Gabriel.

 

It's not the end of an era, but it's a very quiet death.

 

 

 

**vii**.

 

 

It's been almost a month since Genji has smiled for the last time. He has lost count of that, has lost count of how many meals he's skipped, but the only thing that matter is the 27 on the back of his hand, because he'll never stop counting, at least that's what he promised himself. It's the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep, if he does, curled up in the cloak Jesse has left him, and it's the first thing he sees when he wakes up, stumbling over to the bathroom, scratching of the black numbers until there's nothing but reddened skin left, until he adds another number in the exakt same place.

 

Some days, he just stares at it numbly, the cloak draped across his shoulders, and he thinks about the tears he wants to cry, but instead he does nothing. Instead he just stares and cracks and falls apart.

 

He's over anger, he's over sadness, maybe over hope - but he's not over Jesse.

Because how does a person get over with something that was never finished, maybe never even started? He feels like the unsaid things, the unwritten things, the undone things pile up around him to crash down whenever he isn't watching. Whenever he focuses on something else, another mission, another look Jack shoots him, and Genji wants to yell at him like his eighteen year old him would've done it, _You lost Gabriel too, you idiot, stop looking at me like that, like I'm what you worry about, WORRY ABOUT THEM._

Instead Genji swallows and forces himself into a relaxed expression that fools no one.

 

He has no idea what he's trying for – for Jesse to come back, for Genji being able to tell him that _no, of course I didn't fall apart without you, of course I knew you'd come back, and anyways, you don't even mean anything to me, of course not enough to destroy me._

 

The quiet is eating him alive and he laughs back at it and he cries and fights and shuts it out, but the fear is the only thing left in his bed and it makes a horrible companion and an even more horrible lover.

 

_Hit me, and I'll crack._

 

 

 

**viii**.

 

_You don't believe, right? You know he's dead. Reyes”_ , it's not a kind thing to say, it's the opposite of a kind thing, it's a word turned into a blade that Genji throws at Morrison. Morrison blinks and the knife bursts into a thousand particles, disappearing, and they breathe them in and out, the particles of the blade. And Genji gets it – of course he does, because Jack is just as tired as he is.

 

The difference is: If someone would throw a knife at Genji, he'd take it to stab himself in the heart for the slightest of chance to get Jesse back. It's the kind of thing he doesn't even think, because he pretends and pretends and pretends and he has to stay alive for the bit of a chance to see Jesse's face again, for Jesse to call him darlin' again, for Jesse to be with him.

 

His whole blood contains of Jesse, the name in every corner of his bloodstream and he can't remember a time when it used to be different, when he wasn't a shell filled with tenderness and hate and all the feelings he can't identify.

 

_I just want to know_ , he almost chokes on the word, _I just want to know if he is dead. I want to mourn properly._

Jack looks like he understands, because of course he does. They both lost so much while remaining here, unable to do anything.

 

 

 

**ix**.

 

 

There's an end, eventually, somewhere along the line. It's not pretty.

It's the world going up in flames, exploding into a cascade of pain and flares.

 

Genji figures it's the right way for him to die, clutching the only thing Jesse has left him, the smudged 101 on his pale skin, the scar Jesse told him he'd realized the first time they met. It's a fitting end for a pathetic idiot, a sinner, a saint, a person who has lost everything including himself. A person too scared for the unsaid things.

 

Love couldn't have saved Jesse.

Love can't save Genji either.

 

The swiss headquarter goes up in flames and heroes die with it.

Maybe the world doesn't need more heroes after all. No more saints or sinners or heroes.

 

 

 

**x**.

 

 

There's an epilogue. It's not an epilogue. It's beginning of something else. It's not pretty either.

 

It's someone buried under rocks and metal, half-dead and yet alive.

It's someone else on the other side of the world looking up at the sky for the first time in months.

 

It's an epilogue of messy second chances.

 


End file.
